


Rook Wings and Sparrow Nests

by lechatnoir



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Sort of AU, still not over it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles  - Athelstan, Gyda and Lagertha, or how death seemed to knock on their doorstep too soon and the Lord's words cannot do anything to wash away the memories of forests and flowers in his hair, or the last time she held her daughter - who was no longer a child, not anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rook Wings and Sparrow Nests

I.

The first time she holds Gyda in her arms , she thanks the gods for the little girl who is quiet and yet her eyes have a hidden steel bite in them and Lagertha can only smile as the fire crackles in the hearth and Ragnar is all but acting as if he were a mere boy instead of a father, with the way he'd laugh and grin and pick Bjorn up and spin him round and round because they have a little sister now, a little daughter to fill the room with brightness and more stories to tell.

Gyda grows to be true to her name - kind, gentle, a friend.

(Perhaps that is why Athelstan cries for her, in the dark while Lagertha puts her to rest, blood and flesh and kin and the purr of the water)

ii.

She dreams of wild hares running through the tall grass and spearing fish with her mother, fires burning and goats bleating in the hazy spring days as the wind drifts and plays with her braids, Bjorn learning how to fight and she can still hold a shield better than he can even though he’s older than her, but she’s being taught by Lagertha and she has Shieldmaiden’s blood coursing through her veins – soft and strong as lightening and Valhalla itself .

She likes to sit among the grass in the forest clearings, learning the names of the flowers and plants that grew – they say that flowers are weak, useless things that can be destroyed by just about anything and yet they have their own herbs and uses – they can heal and kill and slowly cause a torturous death, suffocating and looking innocent while your eye gazes upon them in the innocent light of the sun.

 

Maybe that’s why she likes Athelstan so much when he enters into their lives, with an odd look on his face and eyes that are green like the leaves in the tree and Bjorn doesn’t really like him, but Gyda thinks he’s interesting, with his odd book that seems to talk about life and death and a god who cannot appear before man and she finds it odd, yet interesting .

It does not stop her from asking her questions, and she wonders if she can call the man her friend. 

_(If you are a Priest, which gods do you favor?)_

iii.

They both seem to have found themselves to be quite close – Athelstan and Gyda.

He has taken to her as one would a little sister, and he is another brother to love and cherish, ropes and slavery and raids be damned.

(She remembers running away from the fires and raids and mother has flames in her eyes, wood chips flying everywhere, metal singing as the laughter of death seemed to creep up after them, chasing them as if they were Jotun on the run, cackling and laughing in their faces) 

They stay with Floki and it is a warm thing – a sense of hope and quiet solitude in the familiar woods that seem to reach up to her and caress her like quiet tethers of kindness.

She stays hidden in the grass, surrounded by the flowers that seem to lull her to sleep. 

(Lagertha asks Athelstan to keep an eye on Gyda, and he only nods and leaves, silent as a shadow) 

iv.

“What are you doing, Gyda?” 

She is roused from her sweet slumber by the man with raven colored hair and green eyes , light as glass and a kind smile on his face and she shakes her head from her little nest of branches and leaves soft as bird feathers and warm in the patch of sunlight that she has found for herself.

 

A few petals tangle in her hair as Athelstan sits down next to her, legs crossed as she laughs and swats his hand away.

“I’m fine, I was just taking a short break, Athelstan! Besides, I’m safe here. I have my spear and my knife with me!” 

“So I’m sure you do. But your mother told me to come check on you, so here I am.”

Gyda smiles and shakes her head before getting up and brushing off the petals that clung to her skirts.

“I’ll be right back, promise!” 

He only nods and wonders how he ended up here.

(He kisses the silver cross that he carries with him, but there is a warmth in his chest when he thinks of the people whom he has slowly come to call ‘family’, pagans and all).

He hears the rustle of leaves and grass and Gyda calls out to him “Cover your eyes Althelstan!” 

He doesn’t know why but he follows her command and does as she says , and he feels something soft and light sit upon his head before Gyda whispers in his ear -

“You can’t open your eyes yet, but you’ll have to take my hand and trust me, alright?” 

He nods and mutters quietly, a smile singing in his voice – “Alright, lead the way , Gyda” 

She takes his hand and tugs him forward, towards the river’s edge before she tells him to crouch down and he can open his eyes again.

He is greeted by the reflection of a man and a girl with flowers in their hair and perhaps Ragnar and Floki will laugh at him, but he sees the beaming smiling on Gyda’s face and thinks it is the first time someone has given him a present.

“Do you like it?”

He laughs and nods, a child like grin on his face – 

“Of course I do Gyda, it is as if they were plucked from Valhalla’s hall by a brave warrior girl, much like yourself.”

(He thinks the smile that she gives him is enough to make the shaking at night stop, the fears and guilt and utter sin that creeps in his veins when the thoughts of Ragnorak cloud his mind and he cannot sleep) 

v.

Lagertha tells him that Gyda told her to pray for him.

He can only tremble and shake and tear down walls , claw at his throat until Lagertha is at his side, steady hands and blood drying on her face – the smell of smoke and ash and the water’s calm air trembling through her.

She wraps her arms around him and he falls to the floor, because it is often cruel, for such a young and kind soul to be snatched away.

He thinks of the girl who he watched be sacrificed to the gods not too long ago, blood pouring into the woodwork of the ship, fires licking and dancing with her cold body as a smile laced her face, even in death. 

Lagertha is strong, and there is no ‘slave’ or ‘shieldmaiden’ – only two souls affected by the passing of their little dove, for their little she-wolf who had a kind heart, who had played with the willow trees and hunted with spears.

The words tumble out of his mouth - aimlessly, apathetic and yet, he holds some silver of hope - 

_There is a time for everything,_

_a time to be born and a time to die,_

_a time to plant and a time to uproot,_

_a time to kill and a time to heal._

He hold Lagertha’s hand as the fires blaze in her soul and she gives him a small smile – it is as if Gyda smiles at them from her ashes, dancing along the water as they watch the embers float into the air, dancing orange and dark blue, like flower petals on a warm spring day, by a river at the edge of the woods. 

_There is a time , to tear down and a time to build_


End file.
